


Of Foreign and Domestic Affairs

by fraufi666



Category: Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Catholic Guilt, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nudity, Racism, Romance, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: Peter Dutton moves in with Mathias Cormann for the first time in a small cottage in Canberra. When settling in, the boorish habits of the Minister for Finance shocks him at first. Yet in the space of two days, Dutton realises there is more to his colleague than he originally thought.
Relationships: Peter Dutton/Mathias Cormann
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

Boxes piled the room. The cottage was slightly smaller than he expected, but nonetheless, Dutton couldn’t complain. It was in a good location, compared to the last place he was staying and he would be able to get to parliament on time every morning as he intended. The Minister for Home Affairs went over to the window, taking a look outside. There was a lovely, small yard, the grass recently mowed. Gum trees provided a small spot for shade, but most of the yard was full of sunlight.  
  
“Just move the bed into the room there.” A voice called out in a familiar, yet foreign accent. He could hear the movers walking into the room, their breathing strained under the weight of some furniture they had to carry. Dutton recognised that voice: It was none other than his colleague, Mathias Cormann. Curious, he stepped into the corridor to find the whole room was filled with a huge pile of boxes.

“Got enough stuff there, Mathias?” Dutton called out, astonished at all of the clutter. For a moment, he had regretted moving in with him, but he needed the rent money. The Minister for Finance would certainly help him with that.

“Oh, ja.” Cormann responded casually, “These are all my things from Belgium.” He looked over his shoulder to see Dutton’s neat pile of boxes. “You travel lightly, Peter. Why, where is your furniture?”

“Furniture!” Dutton gasped, realising there was something he had forgotten to do. Even though he had painstakingly checked off all of his belongings, it slipped his mind to arrange for the furniture to be taken as well. He quickly rang up the movers company, hoping that they could sort it out right away.

“I’m sorry sir.” A voice responded “But if you had called us an hour earlier, we would’ve gotten your furniture moved now.”

“Where am I going to sleep?!” Dutton cried, “You people are irresponsible!” He hung up the phone before the movers could have a chance to respond. Cormann was watching the whole phone call in curiosity.

“Don’t stress, Peter.” Cormann responded with a smile, “I have furniture we can use. Besides, this place is far too small for all of our stuff.”

“I guess you’re right.” Dutton grumbled. He was feeling far too stressed and furious to call back the movers’ company. And besides, he knew could not afford whatever company Cormann was using to bring in his furniture.

In just a couple of hours, all the boxes were unpacked and Cormann was sitting back on the couch, drinking a bottle of _Stella Artois*_. Dutton sat in the arm chair facing him, biting his nails in anxiety. He hoped that the furniture would be safe in the warehouse for another day. He could not afford to have any of his possessions vandalised. It was all the former Government’s fault: if they had taken a harder stance against refugees, he would not be so stressed about his things being left in a storage locker, which might be a place where the refugees would hide. He shuddered to think what they would be doing to his favourite antique furniture.

As more paranoid thoughts ran through his head, he did not realise that Cormann had left the room briefly and had returned, holding another bottle of _Stella Artois_ before him. “Go on, Peter.” The Belgian beckoned, “I think you’ll need it.”

“No, I am fine.” Dutton grumbled, eyes downcast before looking up at him in worry, “But Mathias, how safe do you think those storage lockers are?”

Cormann laughed, “Oh don’t worry about it. Your things will be fine.”

The other man’s carefree response did nothing to ease his anxiety, “Are you quite sure?”

“Oh, Peter you worry too much.” Cormann chuckled, returning back to his seat on the couch. He put his feet on the coffee table before him. Dutton wrinkled his nose. He could not understand why his colleague was so popular compared to him when he was this vulgar. How in the world did his wife put up with him? Dutton wondered, watching the Belgian remove the lid, sculling the second bottle of beer. He turned away in disgust as the other man belched, before he got back up to the fridge to get another bottle.

 _Great, now I’m living with a drunk too._ Dutton thought to himself. He could not understand this man’s bohemian ways. It must be a European thing for sure.

“I’m going to have a shower.” Cormann said, “I’ll be a while, unless you want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.” Dutton responded gesturing him to leave. At the moment, he was not in the mood to do anything except read a book and try and settle in. Cormann walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Dutton felt himself about to doze off until he realised that it was almost midnight. He could still hear the water running. Confused, he got up and went to the bathroom. He knocked the door a couple of times.  
  
Cormann opened the door, his face flushed with a towel around his waist. “Oh sorry. I completely lost track of time. Do you want to have a shower now?”

“Yes, yes. Just get out of my way.” Dutton grumbled, feeling nervous around seeing his colleague in nothing but a towel. Cormann quickly walked to the bedroom, whistling to himself.

The bathroom was quite old, yet the shower seemed to be in pretty good condition. He climbed in, turning on the tap. A terrific shower of ice cold water hit his bald head.

“Eeeeee!” Dutton shouted, quickly turning off the tap. It was too cold for him to handle. Grumbling to himself, he went to the bedroom.

Now lay another problem. Cormann was lying comfortably in a queen-sized bed with a brass bedhead, and yet Dutton’s bed was still not delivered. He would have to sleep on the floor, he realised in horror.

Dutton changed into his pyjamas and curled up on the floor, shivering from having no blanket, and from the cold shower he had experienced earlier. This was not how he had expected his first night at the new place to be.

“You know, you could always come sleep up here.” Cormann said with a smile, moving to one side, “There’s plenty of room.”

The Home Minister looked at him in horror. He could not see himself engaging in such an act of indecency. If parliament found out, he would be done for.

“I-I don’t think so.” Dutton said dismissively, “This is completely unsavoury.”

“What’s the big deal?” The Belgian asked, throwing his hands in the air. He was not wearing a shirt, “We’re not fucking each other.”

Dutton turned bright red at that thought, “No! We are definitely not.” He said quickly, still shivering from the shower. He was not sure how long he could last sleeping on the floor, and he knew that if he slept badly, he would be in a foul mood the next day. Reluctantly, he climbed into bed beside Cormann.

“Now don’t you get any funny ideas.” Dutton said sternly. He was amazed at how soft the mattress was. This was definitely an improvement from sleeping on the floor.

“Who said anything about funny ideas?” Cormann asked. He patted Dutton on the sleeve. “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Yes, night.” Dutton replied, trying to get into a comfortable position to sleep in. He shuffled around, not realising that his hand had brushed against his colleague’s bare thigh.

He quickly drew his hand away in shock, hoping that Cormann would not notice, but the Belgian was wide awake, looking at him in curiosity.

“I..I didn’t know you were naked!” Dutton cried, horrified by what he just felt.

“Sure, what did you expect?” The Finance Minister asked, shrugging. “This is how we sleep in Belgium. Very comfortable.” He tugged one of Dutton’s pyjama buttons teasingly, “You should try it yourself. You’ll sleep better.”

“Absolutely not!” Dutton retorted as he pulled away. He rolled over to face the opposite direction, still incredibly embarrassed about what had happened. _This is just a minor blip_. He tried to tell himself. _An accident._

But despite his best efforts to reassure himself, Dutton was unable to sleep. He heard a loud snore from his colleague and he groaned. Covering his ears the best he could with the pillow, he tried to nod off, but it was no use. Cormann had pulled most of the blankets away from him, so he was only left with a corner.

This was going to be a very long night.


	2. Chapter 2

Dutton awoke the next morning to the smell of sausages. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, getting up from the bed and headed into the kitchen. Cormann was standing at the stove wearing a blue satin dressing gown. He looked up at Dutton, grinning widely before holding the saucepan out to him.

“Frikandel?”

The Home Minister looked down at the sizzling sausages covered in oil. They looked most unappetising. “No, I don’t want any of your kraut food. A coffee should suffice.”

Cormann glared at him in shock, “Nein! I am not German, I am Belgian!”

Dutton rolled his eyes, not at all in the mood for a lecture, “Belgian, German…same thing. Just leave me be, I’ve had a rotten night’s sleep.” _No thanks to you_. He added internally, but shut his mouth as he walked over to the coffee machine.

The Belgian gazed at the Home Minister with slight sympathy, before putting the sausages on a plate. He sat down and placed his two palms together, his eyes closed as he began to say grace in a lowered voice, before doing the sign of the cross with his hand. Dutton narrowed his eyes. Given all of his bohemian habits, he had completely forgotten that his colleague was a Catholic. 

“If you change your mind, there is plenty to go around.” Cormann added, as he started to cut the sausage, his fork at the ready.

Dutton took his coffee from the machine, sitting down in the chair opposite to Cormann and taking a sip. He was still feeling exhausted, but he hoped that the coffee would do the trick in a few minutes. As soon as he was done with it, he would have to ring up the movers again and request for the furniture to be delivered. There was no way he was going to put up with another horrible night’s sleep.

Cormann busied himself with the financial section of the newspaper as he was eating his breakfast. It amazed Dutton how focussed the other man looked, a complete contrast to the carefree slob he saw last night. There seemed to be so much more to him than he initially thought.

As he was watching him, he saw greenish orbs look up from the newspaper to him. Quickly, he looked down, pretending that he was not staring. There were way too many awkward moments with his colleague since moving in, and he did not want to keep creating more.

“I’m going to call the movers.” Dutton said, getting up from the table and pushing in the chair. He quickly walked out of the room, avoiding eye contact with Cormann as he did so. The Home Minister went to retrieve his mobile phone from the bedroom, but then realised that in all of his panic about not having a bed to sleep in, forgot to charge it. The battery had run out.

Dutton furrowed his brow in frustration before digging into his bag to retrieve the charger and plugging it in. There was no use. He would have to wait at least a couple of hours for it to charge before he could call the movers.

After getting dressed, Dutton decided to go for a walk around the yard. From what he saw yesterday, the yard looked comfortable and peaceful enough. He needed some time outdoors in the fresh air and nature.

As he stepped outdoors, he was so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not expect to see Cormann lying in the sunlight, wearing nothing save a hat on his head to block out the sun.

“Jesus Christ!” Dutton exclaimed, causing Cormann to take the hat off his head and sit up quickly. Being a former police officer, his moralistic instincts had kicked in and he looked around in paranoia to see if anyone else could see them. Fortunately they were alone.

“Are you crazy?!” He asked angrily, seeing his naked coworker smirk at his reaction, “What if someone sees you?”

“Don’t stress, Peter. This is a common custom where I am from.” Cormann responded calmly. He patted the grass beside him, “You’re welcome to join. You look like you need a bit of sun yourself.”

Dutton straightened his back, trying to appear aloof and unbothered by the whole situation, but his anxiety was still evident in his voice, “I really don’t think it’s suitable.” He wavered, trying to look away but unable to take his eyes off his coworker.

Cormann stood up, his hands on his hips. Dutton felt his cheeks burn as he caught sight of his whole body. “You better look away then. It’s very impolite to stare.” The Belgian replied curtly.

The Home Minister shook his head, trying to deny his actions, “N-no, I was not!” He blustered. Cormann continued to gaze at him, a small smile on his lips as if he knew something that the other did not. Dutton could feel something tug against his sleeve.

“Come on. We won’t speak more about it. You need to relax.”

Although Dutton thought the whole act was repulsive, there was something about that accent that enticed him to do as he was told. He gingerly took off his shirt, still scanning his surroundings to make sure nobody caught him in the act and then removed his trousers and underwear.

A cool breeze caressed his skin and he realised that it was actually a rather liberating feeling, not having to wear clothing for a change. He sat in the spot next to Cormann, to which the other man smiled.

“Need sunscreen?” He asked, picking up the bottle of lotion that was on his right.

“No, I’m fine.” Dutton replied, awkwardly trying to get comfortable on the grass. Initially he felt embarrassed being seen like this, but there was also something so natural about being naked beside his coworker: as if he could be himself around someone who did not judge or criticise. Furthermore, now that both of them were exposed like this, they were on an equal level. Whatever insecurities he had about his own body did not seem to matter as the Belgian flaunted his stocky form proudly. He was not used to that, and for a moment, he felt at peace, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth of the sun. After lying down on his back for a while, he turned over to allow the sun to warm his back.

Instantly he had forgotten all of his worries and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Dutton woke up, feeling a burning pain all over his body. He tried to get up from the grass, but the pain merely intensified.

Groaning, he got to his feet and caught sight of his reflection in the window. To his dismay, his skin was as red as a lobster.

“It burns!” He yelped, turning to his colleague who merely grinned in response. There was not a single red spot on his bare body.

“I did suggest you to put on sunscreen.” Cormann replied, clearly amused to be proven right.

“Yes, yes, alright. Now what do I do?!” He panicked. “I can’t be seen like this! I look like a baked potato!”

“Not to worry.” The Belgian replied, as a matter of fact, “Come with me.”

The Australian followed his colleague without much hesitation into the bathroom. Cormann took out what appeared to be a bottle of blue gel. He walked into the lounge, sitting on the coffee table.

“Come on, take a seat.” He ordered. Dutton reluctantly sat down, flinching in discomfort as he realised that even his backside was burnt as well.

“What is that?” He asked, watching Cormann squeeze some of the gel out of the bottle and into his hands.

“Aloe vera.” Cormann explained, “It’s very good for treating sunburn.” He reached out to put some on Dutton’s face and for a moment, the Home Minister could only stare into the green eyes before him.

Suddenly he recoiled. “No, I can do that, leave it to me.” He muttered, continuing to slather the gel over his face and neck. The top of his head was starting to peel and it was most unpleasant. He wished he had worn a hat.

The gel soothed the burns, although he had trouble reaching his back. He looked at Cormann shyly, hoping he would notice him struggling. It felt wrong to ask for help.

“Okay, let’s have a look.” Cormann said, reading his mind. “Turn around.”

Dutton got up from the couch and turned around.

Cormann chuckled to himself briefly before applying the gel onto the other man’s shoulders. The way the hands seemed to work the gel onto him seemed to ease the pain, and Dutton closed his eyes, secretly hoping that he would continue. Cormann’s hands felt soft, yet strong, working efficiently to cover all the areas that had been burnt. As soon as his hands began to move down towards his lower back, did Dutton felt a slight tinge of pleasure. Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel himself growing hard and tried to ignore it. The last thing he wanted, was for his colleague of all people to see his arousal. But Cormann continued on, completely unaware.

As the cool gel touched the Home Minister’s buttocks, a slight moan escaped his lips. He felt himself sweat, realising that it was all too late. He peered over his shoulder, but Cormann’s eyes were downcast, still working the gel into him. Suddenly, he felt the hands trail around his waist and journeyed down towards his groin, the gel rubbing against his hardened member.

“W-what are you doing?” Dutton panted, secretly hoping that Cormann would continue his actions. The Finance Minister leaned against him, his chin on his shoulder.

“It’s a sensitive area, Peter.” The Belgian drawled, his voice deep and husky. Despite clearly being aroused himself, it sounded like they were talking about the Budget instead, “Wouldn’t you think it is prudent that we cover all bases?”

“I-I think you’re right.” Dutton replied shortly, trying to hold back another moan as the other man continued to fondle him. “Yes…yes right there.” He muttered, “Keep going Mathias.” As he leaned back, he could feel the Belgian’s own erection pressing against him. Despite all his qualms about same sex marriage in parliament years ago, he could not deny how much he was enjoying himself. Was this something he disregarded because he secretly wanted it too?

As he reflected on all of his conservative values, he turned around to face Cormann, his heart racing as he could see the same kind of lust he was feeling within those green eyes. The Belgian leaned in, their lips making contact after what had felt like an eternity. They kissed one another hungrily, unable to pull away from one another. It was as if they had finally received the very fruits that they were starved from for so long. Cormann pushed the Home Minister onto the couch as he climbed on top of him, their lips still locked, whilst their gel-filled hands continued to explore one another’s bodies.

Dutton saw the way the Belgian gasped as he ran his hand against his length.

“Do it…” Cormann dared, closing his eyes as he lay his head down on the cushion. “You know you want to.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Dutton took him into his mouth, running his tongue against his member greedily.

“Ooh..” Cormann moaned, “So you don’t like the Frikandel, but you like mine?”

“Shut up, you kraut.” Dutton murmured, before continuing to pleasure him. The Finance Minister shivered, amazed that someone so conservative could be so skillful with his tongue. He rubbed his hands against the other man’s bald head, pushing him closer to him.

“Ja, keep going.” He muttered. “My kartoffel.”

The insult only turned Dutton on all the more, “I’m going to make you come faster than those illegal boat people.” He promised, not taking his hands off him as he briefly took a breath before taking him into his mouth again. As he said so, he felt the other man’s thighs tremble until finally he gave in and came.

“You better swallow, or I’ll make sure I cut your budget.” Cormann threatened, applying more pressure against the bald head. Dutton did as he was told. It was somehow satisfying to taste him finally and he savoured every moment.

Cormann got up to kiss Dutton on the lips before taking hold of his sunburnt shoulders. “Now you turn around and be a good Home Minister, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes.” Dutton grumbled, although his heart was thumping quickly in anticipation. He turned around, positioning himself on his hands and knees. He could feel Cormann’s length enter into him and he gasped. The Belgian’s hands gripped his waist, gradually moving his hips inwards and outwards. In the throes of passion, Dutton had pretty much forgotten the pain of the sunburn, shuddering as his colleague continued to penetrate him. He grabbed the upholstery of the couch, moaning loudly as Cormann’s thrusts became harder and rougher.

“Keep…going.” The Home Minister begged, sweat and aloe vera dripping down his face, “Or I’ll deport you.”

“With pleasure.” Cormann smirked, intensifying his movements. Dutton was sure he was about to come and in a matter of seconds, found his release. He came over the couch, and awkwardly, sat back down, worried about the mess that he made.

“I better go clean that up.” Dutton murmured.

“Leave it.” Cormann whispered, pulling him back into his arms. “This is _our_ place now. I don’t mind that we’ve christened the furniture.”

The two continued to kiss roughly, before making their way to the bedroom. Dutton noticed that his phone was fully charged and finally remembered that he still had to call for the movers.

But as he felt those strong arms wrapped around him, it was suddenly not so important anymore. He climbed into bed with the Belgian, their tongues entwining as their kiss grew more passionate.

“Oh, do you still want to get your own bed?” Cormann asked after a while.

“I think I can put up with you for one more night.” Dutton teased. As they embraced, the Home Minister realised that these domestic affairs were better than he had anticipated. Now that he thought of it, foreigners made such incredible lovers.

“You better not tell anyone about this.” The Home Minister muttered, panting after so much strenuous activity.

“This will be our little secret.” Cormann whispered, propping himself up with his elbows on the pillow. But as Dutton was about to catch his breath, the Belgian reached up to take his head in his hands. “But I do think we should go for another round.”

“Soon.” Dutton panted, “I need to rest first.”

“Who said anything about you needing to do anything?” Cormann asked mischievously. Dutton’s eyes widened as his colleague made his way under the covers, putting his lips against his cock.

The Home Minister closed his eyes as the other man took him into his mouth. He was impressed and surprised by Cormann’s generosity. Even though he had a tough stance on immigration, he was glad to make an exception for this one foreigner. Furthermore, although Cormann’s habits would take a while to get used to, the sex was worth it. Moving in with his colleague was not so bad after all.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

He awoke to a few anxious mutterings, although it was too far away for him to pick up on what was being said. Cormann returned to the room with a grave look on his face and a phone in his hand.

“Sorry for waking you.” He apologised, noticing that his colleague was watching him.

“What was that all about?” Dutton asked, sitting up as the Finance Minister went to sit at his bedside. Cormann put a hand on his head, stroking it gently. The aloe vera seemed to be working well, for his scalp did not look as red as it did hours ago.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Go back to sleep.” Cormann responded calmly, putting the phone on the bedside table with his free hand. But judging by his expression, the Belgian was definitely worried about something. Dutton would look back on this moment later on and realise that he should have pressed him further for an answer.

Yet at the time, he relaxed at the other man’s caresses and felt himself drift off into a deep sleep. By the time he had awoken, the sun was streaming through the windows. Cormann was not in the bed beside him: he must have had an early start, the Home Minister assumed. Dutton shielded his eyes with his hand, wondering why the curtains were open. But as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he realised that there were no curtains. He got up from the bed, making his way to the kitchen, half-expecting to see Cormann standing around in his satin dressing gown, cooking sausages. But the kitchen was empty. Even the chairs and table were gone.

“Mathias?” Dutton called out, as he continued to make his way around the house. There was no sign of him anywhere. Confused, he sat down on the couch, trying to work things out. On the coffee table, he could see there was a folded piece of paper. He picked it up immediately and unfolded it to read.

_My dear Kartoffel,_

_I have decided to go back to Western Australia. My wife needs me._

_Yours,_

_M._

With shaking hands, Dutton re-read the short, brutal sentences. How could this be? He wondered. He turned the piece of paper around to see if there was more information, but it was blank. Quickly, he raced into the bedroom and picked up his phone, his hands sweaty as he tried to ring Cormann. But the call went straight to voicemail.

Dutton swore under his breath, trying to call him a second time. But there was no use. Thinking quickly, he called for a taxi before getting changed as fast as possible. Once the taxi had arrived, he ordered the driver to make haste to the Canberra Airport. Maybe there was still time, he thought hopefully.

Once the taxi approached his destination, Dutton raced through, trying to find the terminal for interstate departures. There was only ten minutes left until the departure flight for Perth. He saw Cormann in a suit, his eyes downcast as he sat on one of the couches. Dutton quickly walked briskly towards him.

Cormann stood up as soon as he saw him. “What are you doing here?” He asked, his Germanic accent hinting irritation.

“I could ask you the exact same thing.” Dutton shot back, his voice rising, “What is the matter with you? Why would you just take off? You even took all the furniture!”

The Belgian frowned, “Keep your voice down.” He muttered, taking him by the arm and walking him to a quieter spot with less people. Whatever they were talking about could not be overheard by the public. Dutton was puzzled by the seriousness of his colleague’s manner. Compared to the carefree slob he saw at the cottage, it was like looking at a complete stranger.

“I read your letter.” Dutton admitted, “It made no sense to me. Since when did you ever care about what your wife thinks? Don’t you think it’s too late to be worrying about that now?”

The green eyes looked a bit sad as the Finance Minister quietly listened to his colleague.

“Well?!” Dutton demanded, losing patience at having so little solace for all his trouble. “Answer me!”

Cormann sighed, before speaking in a quiet voice, “It’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s not that simple?’! I thought whatever we had was real. Why are you running away from me now?” He felt angry and hurt, and he could not shake the feeling that it was all a mistake. “Do you regret us?” Dutton asked, not wanting to know the answer.

The Finance Minister stared out of the window, trying to distract himself with the aeroplanes flying in the morning light instead of this difficult conversation. “In Belgium, I was raised a Roman Catholic.*” He said softly that it sounded like more of a whisper. There was shame in his voice, as if admitting a dirty secret.

“So?” Dutton was confused with the other man’s reluctance to talk about his faith. As a conservative, he had always been supportive about the freedom to practice religion, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Cormann looked up at him, frowning in frustration at the man’s obviousness, “No, you don’t understand. Whatever we had was not right. You said so yourself. I cannot pray and follow through with my faith, while committing these sins. It is hypocrisy.”

Dutton threw his hands in the air in despair. “So, you’re just going to give up?”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” For the first time, Dutton saw the tiredness on the other man’s face, the worry etched on his forehead, dark rings surrounding his eyes. Whatever inner turmoil the Belgian was experiencing seemed to eat at him, devouring all the jovial characteristics that his colleague once loved.

“Well, you might as well take the bed and couch too.” Dutton replied bitterly, not at all reassured by the man’s apology.

“No. I want you to keep them. As a reminder of the times we shared together.” He placed a hand on his shoulder gently, gazing into the other man’s dark eyes. There was a small smile, and for a minute it seemed as if the old Cormann was back again. “Your sunburn seems to have faded into a nice tan.” He remarked, his eyes twinkling. But the moment ended immediately, while the shine in his eye faded. The hand slipped off the shoulder and Cormann looked down at his watch sadly.

“I must be off.” He said.

 _Typical kraut_. Dutton realised. _Caring more about being on time than talking through feelings._

“Right.” Dutton replied stiffly, stepping back a little, his back straightened. “I won’t keep you.”

“Auf Wiedersehen…Mein Schatz.” The Belgian replied, staring into his eyes deeply for the last time. Before Dutton could think of a response, his colleague turned and walked away.

Not once did he look back.

Dutton continued to watch the man as he walked through the departures section. Even when he was no longer in view, he knew which plane he was on, for he memorised the details as soon as he came into the airport. He watched as it rolled along the tarmac, before lifting off. The Home Minister’s eyes were glued to the aircraft as it grew smaller and smaller in the brightening sky. It hurt to watch, but he could not pull away.

When the plane was no longer in view, only then did Dutton turn away from the window and walk away, back to his taxi.

As the taxi took him back to the lonely cottage, he decided he was going to further toughen his stance on immigration once all his furniture was sorted.  
  


 _Damn foreigners._ He thought bitterly, as he gazed at the desolate Canberra fields. They were more trouble than they were worth.

**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for explanations: 
> 
> Stella Artois: According to an interview, this Belgian beer is one of the Finance Minister’s favourite drinks. 
> 
> “I was raised a Roman Catholic”: When writing this fic, Cormann was going to come across as more boorish. However, I was recently shown an interview which shed more light on his religious upbringing and serious nature. As a result, it seemed more fitting to do a story where he was struggling with the conflict of his faith, and his feelings for his colleague. This interview is the same one which mentioned his favourite beer. You can read all about it in the link below.  
> https://www.afr.com/politics/federal/thethingsmathiascormannwonttalkabout-20180308-h0x6il?fbclid=IwAR30epT_JN69tJ2PDiNoW5FbJmg21lrZ8nXcL5Yhz5Mv4bu-1vJQPXFbdpo
> 
> German translation key:
> 
> Ja: Yes
> 
> Nein: No
> 
> Kartoffel: Potato
> 
> Auf Wiedersehen: Goodbye 
> 
> Mein Schatz: My precious


End file.
